


king of anything

by sunshinemachine



Category: The Social Network (2010)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 15:20:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4226880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinemachine/pseuds/sunshinemachine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts with a girl and ends with a girl. Mark/Erica.</p>
            </blockquote>





	king of anything

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually an incredibly old fic which is posted on my ffnet account, but I rewatched the film recently and decided to post it here. It's not very good, but here we are.

She has beautifully coloured eyes; a brilliant, deep blue that darkens when she's confused and lightens when she's happy. Pretty, simple words tumble out of her mouth, but she's smart in some way or another.

Definitely smart.

He notices all of this in the first five minutes after he sees her, knows that she's a happy, loyal person. He knows that she's the kind of girl people want to have, and that he wouldn't mind having either, even if he is smarter.

Then again, he knows that she's far smarter at love than he ever will be.

.

Erica makes his head spin and words jumble together just as they're coming out of his mouth, and he's not really sure what's going on, and that's what he  _hates hates hates_. But then she smiles at him, little dimples appearing in her cheeks, and his mind goes blank for exactly three milliseconds.

And then it starts again, a fast beating of his heart that sends blood rushing to his fingers, and he's not quite sure what's happening anymore.

So he stays quiet, and he listens to what she has to say, and the melody of her voice is the most calming thing he's ever heard - and that's the only reason why he doesn't change the subject.

(Truly, honestly, why would he lie?)

.

She doesn't say I love you once. But then again, neither does he.

(He sends her a code with eight letters and three spaces, and prays to whatever god is out there that she understands.

She doesn't even say thank you.)

.

They date for three months, five days, and approximately thirty minutes, though maybe that's just the time since they first met. He can't recall anymore, it all blurs together now - just her and her smile, and the brush of her hand against his.

That's all he understands now, just the little touches; never the feelings and the tingles that come after it (and she talks in a goddamn code, no matter what she says).

Even we're not dating anymore doesn't make any sense to him, because he could never quite see the end of them.

.

_Is this real?_

.

Erica Albright is a bitch.

(That's not quite true either, he realises, even when he's drunk - because somehow, even alcohol, can fuck with his brain.

He's smarter than this, he knows, but Erica's always been smarter than him.)

.

He only spends two and half hours thinking about her after they break up, though he does send a note with the words  _thank you_  written on it after he creates facebook and sticks it to her dorm room.

The next thing he does is delete her number from his phone and her email address from his contact list, and vows to himself that he won't ever think about her again.

.

His days are filled with long codes that make perfect sense to him and algorithms, one after the after adding themselves together in his head (one plus one equals two, and me and you equals us). He absorbs himself in his work, builds an empire for himself where he's the king.

But at night, he doesn't think like that. Instead he pictures flashes of brunette hair and dilated pupils and an infectious laugh that he never heard enough in real life. He wakes up, his head spinning all over again, and he's never sure why.

So he stays up all night, trying to finish it – though it's not because of her. At least, it's probably not (particularly as he can see her behind his eyelids anyway, even if it's just for half a second when he blinks).

.

After the launch of the Facebook, he gets ten different phone numbers from girls that he's never seen before, never even spoken to before. He never calls any, though he tries to, but his fingers always slip and he ends up ringing the wrong number, but he hangs up as soon as he remembers (one, two, three seconds before it starts to ring).

One time, just one time, he lets it ring through, only to discover that her number has been disconnected. He throws his mobile against the wall, and watches it break with a slight smile on his face.

.

When he sees her, so long after he saw her last, at the restraint, he forgets the present and only thinks of the past. It all seems so familiar, from the look on her face to the way he stumbles over his words, to the smell of alcohol in the room.

Even as he's walking towards her, his fists start to clench, and his brain begins screaming at him to walk away, to turn his back on her and just forget everything (and maybe he's just a little smarter than before to know this, maybe he's better and , maybe everything could –  _no_ ).

It's a disaster, but he's not that surprised.

.

_Please, please, just talk to me._

_Remember me._

.

The next year is a complete and utter rush, filled with lights and laughter and alcohol and the constant tapping of keys. He feels it all, from the high of success to the impending and dangerously fast fall.

 _Do you ever remember that girl?_ He asks, trying to blink the images that flood his brain away.

_No._

Of course not, he thinks. He counts sums in his head, recites some of  _the Illiad_  under his breath, trying to get rid of the nostalgia that starts to overtake him as Sean mindlessly chatters to him and his date, smiling and nodding his head mechanically every now and then.

He doesn't think he's in love with her anymore – but maybe, just maybe, he still misses her.

.

The letters get sent one after the other, only a couple of days apart.

He finds himself sitting on the floor of his apartment, completely empty now that everybody's working in an office, surrounded by torn envelopes and creased white paper, the black text looking so bold and important. He wonders if he's lonely, now that there's no tapping of keyboards or a girl's drunken giggle.

His mobile phone feels foreign in his hand, almost heavy. It's only when he's looking at it that he realises he has no one to call – Eduardo hates him, he's not talking to Sean, and there's no one else to call. Instead, he just falls back against the floor and closes his eyes.

.

It's been one thousand, one hundred and thirty two days since he met Erica Albright. He remembers it all, from her eyes, to her smile, to the tone of her voice.

He wonders, sometimes, if she thinks about him, even if it's just while she's using facebook. Just that  _maybe maybe maybe_  she'll remember him.

He hits refresh.


End file.
